Entertaining Angels
by Venused
Summary: A Mondler Christmas Story. She sits watching the falling snow, wishing for a Christmas miracle. Little does she know, her wish is about to come true. Extreme AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Entertaining Angels – Chapter One**

xx

Monica stared out the window at the falling snow, her eyes downcast. She tucked a leg beneath her on the window seat, and watched the descending snowflakes in the light of the streetlight, sadly. As pretty and crisp as the freshly fallen snow was, Monica couldn't find it in herself to appreciate the sight. Christmastime was supposed to be a happy, joyful time, but all she could think about was how the holiday was going to be no different from any other day of the year for her.

She lived alone, had few friends and no boyfriend. So, who was she going to celebrate with? Her family maybe, but that wasn't much of a celebration so much as self-inflicted torture. She'd never really gotten along with her mother. The rift that had formed in their relationship after she'd gained weight as a child had never really mended itself, even after she's lost the weight and years had passed. So much for time healing everything. And Ross, well he was a good guy, Monica knew, but he reveled in the attention his parents showered upon him, unwittingly forcing his sister to the side. The childhood rivalry had crept its way into their adult lives, and they'd spent as much time apart as they could. And her father, well, he just was. She was his little Harmonica and that's all there was to it. He stood up for her when he could, but his well-meaning statements were often unintentionally hurtful, and even when they weren't, they were hardly enough to outweigh her mother's criticisms and her brother's need for the parental spotlight to shine on him.

No, Christmas with family just wasn't an option. As pathetic as she knew it was, perhaps she'd call Rachel and see if she and Barry were willing to have her over for the holidays. Sure, she hadn't spoken to her friend in months, but it had to be better than waking up Christmas morning alone. Even if it did mean spending time with Barry, who was just as off-putting as he'd always been. When Monica had tried to tell Rachel of his inappropriate behaviour towards her, her friend had refused to hear her out, insisting that her husband would never do that. They were 'in love,' and Barry wouldn't dream of cheating. Monica hoped for the very sake of love that that wasn't it. She was a bit of a romantic, and the idea that what Rachel and Barry shared was true love was a horrific thought, not worthy of trying to comprehend.

Monica had other ideas. True love was wanting to spend forever with one person. Never forgetting to say 'I love you.' Never ceasing to be affectionate. Just wanting to do something special for them because you cared. Not the strained kind of love – if it could even be called that – that Barry and Rachel seemed to share.

Monica sighed, and turned away from the window, glancing around her apartment, settling on the small decorated Christmas tree. The obsessive part of her had ensured the tree was perfectly decorated with tinsel and baubles and candy canes. It was gorgeous, if she did say so herself. She only wished she had someone to share it with, to appreciate it with. Maybe even a little child to celebrate with. She would wrap all his or her gifts perfectly. Her husband would dress up as Santa, and place them all under the tree while the child watched through the crack in his or her bedroom door, unaware his or her parents knew exactly what was going on.

She smiled at the image, before she was hit with reality once again. She was still alone with her beautiful tree. Hopelessly romantic daydreams would do nothing to change that.

What she needed was a miracle.

xx

Chandler watched the scene sympathetically. "She looks so miserable," he commented sadly, watching as Monica traced a heart in the fog on her windowpane. "I wish I could do something to help her."

Phoebe nodded at him, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, "You can."

Chandler looked at her with wide eyes. "You're serious? Me?" he questioned, then more hesitantly, "Alone? Are you sure I'm ready? I mean, I've never gone on a mission alone! I've always gone with Joey…" he trailed off, his eyes begging for reassurance from his friend and mission supervisor.

"Chandler," Phoebe told him comfortingly, "You're perfect for the job. I've known you since you were born, an angel. You have a good heart. Trust me, you're ready. Monica needs you."

"I – I want to. Just, I've never – I don't even know," he fumbled, watching the pretty brunette straighten the ornaments on her tree sadly, "Just… what if I can't help? Look at her Pheebs, I don't want to screw this up because I'm a rookie. She deserves someone more experienced. She deserves to be happy."

Phoebe smiled at him in a maternal way, her glow seeming especially strong. "More experienced isn't always better. You care, Chandler. That makes you the perfect angel for this job. That's exactly what Monica needs. Not someone who will see this as 'just another mission.'"

Chandler glanced first at Phoebe, then at Monica, nervously, wondering uncertainly, "What would I even have to do?"

Phoebe grinned, pleased. "Ah, good! You're going to accept the mission!"

"I didn't say that!" Chandler was quick to reply, his voice tinged with panic, "I just want to know what my job would be if I did!"

"Well, _if_, you did," Phoebe drawled mockingly, making it clear she knew he would accept the position, "You would be sent to earth, as a human. You would have to win her trust and respect and prove to her that she isn't a hopeless case, that she's worthy and deserving of love. Give her a reason to hope."

"But?" Chandler asked, knowing there was always a catch to these kinds of missions.

"You'd have until Christmas," Phoebe added sheepishly, her tone implying it was no big deal.

"Christmas!" Chandler exclaimed, "That's two weeks away! You expect me to reverse this woman's entire upbringing and self-esteem issues in 14 earth days? Are you nuts?"

"You're an angel, Chandler," Phoebe told him, as if he didn't know.

"Yeah!" he scoffed, "But I'm not her fairy godmother! I can't wave my magic wand and make her all better!"

Phoebe waved her hand dismissively, "This is nothing! I'm 100 years old, Chandler. They're going easy on you young ones. You should hear about what I had to do for my first solo mission!"

Chandler looked dubious, but was curious anyway. "Yeah? What was that, Pheebs?" he asked, knowing her statement was a cue for him to ask her to tell the story.

"Well, it was 1945, and I was sent to Germany, to where three American soldiers were stranded after they were ejected during a plane crash. My mission was to get them to stop blaming one another for the accident and make them realize that their fighting was self-destructive. After getting them to reconcile, I had to help guide them back to a friendly platoon. All without making myself visible to them."

Chandler listened to the tale with wide eyes. "And did you?" he wondered.

Phoebe scoffed, "Of course! Why do you think I'm in charge of deciding missions for other angels now? I'm good at my job! I know what it takes to get a mission done!"

Chandler nodded, asking in a small voice, "I trust your judgment, Pheebs, more than anyone I know… but are you sure I'm the angel for this one?"

Phoebe grinned, "Of course I am! Would I send you down to earth if I didn't know with absolute certainty you were capable of this? I'm a Prudence Angel; knowing is what I do. I know you were meant to be a Solace Angel, Chandler. I could have asked dozens of other angels to fill this position. But I chose you, because I know you're the one for this job."

Chandler grinned at her, pleased with the revelation. "You mean, you're making me a Solace Angel?"

Phoebe nodded, answering, "Yes, if you decide to take this mission, you will officially have the title of Solace Angel. Reassuring humans of their position in the world is the purpose of Solace Angels. But before you make a final decision on the matter, it is my duty to let you know the requirements."

Chandler raised his eyebrow questioningly. "There are requirements?"

"Yes. Just as different angels have different jobs, we all have different requirements to meet. As a Solace Angel, you will have direct contact with humans, since your job as an angel is to essentially bring comfort to them. They will be able to see and touch and hear you. For all intents and purposes, during the course of your mission you will be human. You may visit heaven whenever you are not needed around the humans involved in your mission. Once your mission is successfully completed, or you reach your deadline, you will be able to return to heaven permanently."

"Okay," Chandler agreed easily, "That sounds pretty straight-forward."

Phoebe nodded in agreement, "It is. There's more. As a Solace Angel there are three rules you must follow. One, you must never tell any of the humans involved in your mission that you are an angel. Humans need to have faith, to believe in things that cannot be proven. Telling them we exist is counter-productive to cultivating hope. If you violate this rule, you will immediately be returned to heaven and stripped of your title as an angel."

"I know that, Pheebs," Chandler scoffed, "That's like the golden rule for all angels, no matter their job or position."

Phoebe smirked, shrugging. "It's my duty as your mission supervisor to make sure you know" she explained, "Rule two, if a human is watching, you must act human," she looked at him pointedly, "This means no flying. I know about the mission training accident with Joey! You're lucky that that was training!"

Chandler huffed. "Why do I always get blamed for that, just because I was with him? It was all Joey! Why _don't_ humans fly, anyway? They have legs just like us, don't they? It's so much faster! Walking sucks."

Phoebe shrugged, "I don't know. I guess no one has ever taught them how?" They both paused to ponder the thought, before Phoebe cleared her throat, continuing, "Anyway, the third and most important rule for Solace Angels; you cannot tell a human you love them. As a Solace Angel you are meant to be a guide, not a source of love. If you do tell a human you love them, you will become a human yourself. You will not be able to reverse the change."

Chandler looked at her with wide, indignant eyes. "You can't help who you fall in love with! That's not fair! Who made that rule?"

"We're angels, Chandler, not deities. We don't make rules, we follow them. Love is more powerful than we are. We must surrender to it, just like everyone else. The rule is a blessing, from love itself. If you fall in love you should be able to be with the one you love. The purpose of the rule is not as a restraint, but as an enabler." Chandler's eyes softened in understanding.

Phoebe looked at her friend and student questioningly, "So, what do you think? Do you want to be a Solace Angel?"

Chandler glanced at her hesitantly, before averting his eyes. He knew his answer would change the entire course of his lifetime as an angel. He peered down at Monica, one last time, watching as she prepared for bed. Even brushing her teeth, her worry lines refused to disappear. Chandler knew he needed to help make them go away. "I want to help," he told Phoebe resolutely.

Phoebe nodded, a smug all-knowing grin tugging the corners of her mouth. "I had a feeling you would. Now, before I send you down to earth, here's how it's going to work…"

xx

Monica dragged herself into work, her mood from the previous evening had not improved in the least. She had hoped a goodnight's sleep would make her feel better, but she'd rolled around in bed all night, unable to sleep, the stifling sense of loneliness the season always brought weighing heavily on her mind. Now instead of just depressed and hopeless she was depressed, hopeless, tired, cranky and had massive bags under her eyes. God, she missed just being depressed and hopeless.

She cautiously approached the kitchen after hanging up her coat and purse in the small staff room, not in the mood to deal with her co-workers heckling her. An incident from the week prior shooting into her mind, she snatched the hat she had just stuffed on her head off, relieved to see nothing written on it.

Still distracted with returning the hat to her head, she was surprised to be greeted by several of the wait staff as she entered the kitchen. She looked at them nervously, wary of another prank. The closest one, whom she vaguely remembered being named Tony, acknowledged her, a little less coldly than she was expecting, given his recent behaviour towards her. "Hello Chef Geller," he said shortly. "Allesandro has hired another waiter to accommodate the Christmas rush," he informed, gesturing towards another man that Monica didn't recognize, "This is Chandler."

Monica glanced at the man shyly, as the other waiters disbanded, leaving her alone with him. He smiled at her, and Monica couldn't help but smile back. He was cute… maybe he would be the one to... No. She wouldn't let herself think it. She was well aware that the other waiters would probably have him hating her soon enough. She couldn't let herself get invested only to have her hopes shattered. She might as well enjoy the niceness while it lasted. But that was it. "Hi, Chandler," she greeted, wringing her hands nervously, "You can call me Monica, if you like."

He smiled at her brightly. "Nice to meet you Monica. Tony tells me you're the head chef here?" Monica nodded self-consciously. "You're an awesome chef. The food here is great. I've been working here for less than three hours and I cannot tell you how many compliments I've received on the cuisine!"

Monica flushed. "Thanks. I try my best. I better get to work, though. Food doesn't cook itself," she said flustered, trying not to let it show how much she liked him.

Chandler flashed another bright smile. "Okay, I'll see you around, Monica."

"Okay," she agreed quietly, watching as he turned on his heel and practically floated towards the dining area. Monica watched him go, a small, unconscious smile on her face. There was something different about him she couldn't put her finger on... it was like he seemed to glow from within.

She shook her head, deciding she was acting crazy, a side effect of the restless night. She hurried towards the stove, pushing all thoughts of Chandler and his glow away.

Don't get invested, she reminded herself, you'll only get hurt.

xx

_Yay, you've discovered my Mondler Christmas story! :)_

_Since it's only a little more than a week until Christmas, this story is going to be far from monumental, though it __**will**__ hopefully be continued, if there is any interest in seeing more. I know the idea is a little out there, but it's Christmas, miracles are allowed!_

_For those of you waiting on Listen to Your Heart, sorry, I don't think that one will be updated until at least after Christmas. I'll get back eventually, though :)  
_

_Merry Christmas, guys! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think in a review :) _


	2. Chapter 2

**Entertaining Angels – Chapter Two**

xx

Monica watched out of the corner of her eye as Chandler dutifully scrubbed the dishes in the overflowing sink. She had been surprised when after the restaurant had closed, Chandler had offered to stay and help her clean up for the fifth night in a row. None of the other waiters had ever offered to help close. When she dropped hints, all she ever received was dirty looks. She had long since given up trying, figuring it wasn't worth the bother. Then, out of nowhere, without prodding or even the barest hint, Chandler had offered to stay, multiple nights. She was secretly pleased, even though she wouldn't admit it out loud. Having help, especially from the cute new waiter sure beat closing the restaurant alone, which was what she was used to most nights she worked the dinner shift.

Though they had hardly spoken over the past few evenings, except small talk and pleasantries, Monica felt a connection to Chandler, as if he had some sort of greater purpose in her life than 'just another one of the waiters.' For one thing, he was as nice to her as ever, in spite of nearly a week with Tony and the other waiters, whom she was sure were doing their best to sway him to hate her. She was relieved he seemed not to be so easily moved to hate. She liked him. His quiet, dutiful presence during the late nights was of more comfort than she was willing to admit out loud, to him, or anyone else.

Monica snapped out of her reverie, realizing Chandler was standing next to her and had been calling her name. She had been so involved in her thoughts she hadn't even noticed him approach. She blushed, not wanting him to think she was ignoring him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, gently touching her shoulder in a friendly way. Monica stiffened at the contact, fully aware of the nerves that threatened to overwhelm her at his nearness. As much as she liked him, and had a hunch he could like her, if he would just let himself, the friendly contact was foreign. Over the past week that he had been working for her the most contact they'd had was a brief brush of his fingers against hers as they both simultaneously reached for the same caesar salad bowl. Monica felt a rush of warmth at the memory.

"Monica?" he repeated, softly, his eyes searching her face worriedly, "Are you okay?"

Monica looked up into his concerned blue eyes, realizing she had sunk back into a reverie again, and answered embarrassedly, "I'm fine. I was just thinking."

Chandler smiled brightly, answering jokingly, "Ah, thinking. I've been known to do that occasionally, too. What's on your mind?"

Monica smiled back, only slightly nervous; his friendliness made her feel much less anxious. She shrugged, anyway, not willing to divulge her thoughts about him, and offered a half truth instead. "Oh, nothing much. Just thinking about how it's nice to not be alone here, for once."

Chandler nodded along, "Yeah, I can imagine. That's why I've been offering to stay! No one should have to be stuck here alone this close to Christmas!"

Monica shrugged indifferently, explaining cynically, "I'm used to it. Christmas is no different than any other time of year."

Chandler looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and friendliness, "Well, you won't have to be alone as long as I'm here! Christmas or not!"

Monica nodded at him in thanks, unwilling to let herself fully believe his words. Sure he could say that, but she knew the other waiters had their methods of persuasion.

As if reading her thoughts, Chandler added, "Don't worry about what those other guys think."

Feigning ignorance, Monica questioned, "Other guys?"

Chandler raised an eyebrow at her, calling her bluff. "You know who. The other waiters. They're all assholes, Mon." Monica smiled at him timidly, causing Chandler to look at her questioningly. "What?"

"You called me Mon," Monica answered shyly, "No one's called me that since I was a little girl, except my Dad. I've always been his little Harmonica."

Chandler flushed lightly. "Sorry, is that not okay?" he wondered, turning back to the dishes he had been washing earlier, picking at his yellow gloves uncomfortably.

"No, it's fine," Monica smiled, her mind flooded with memories of a much less lonely childhood. "I liked it. And, um, thanks, for, uh, you know, saying that, um, with the waiters," she fumbled.

Chandler looked up at her as he scrubbed a pan, his hands immersed in soapy water. "I meant it. The way they treat you… it just isn't right. They have no right to do that to you. I've seen you work, and you're good at your job. You deserve this position as much as anyone. Don't let them get you down."

Monica turned away, putting away grated parmesan so he wouldn't see her glassy eyes, though she was fairly sure he would be able hear her emotional state in her voice. "I try not to," she offered succinctly, not wanting to share her story, and turn into an emotional mess in front of the first employee who had been so kind to her since she had accepted the position as head chef.

Chandler looked at her sympathetically, clearly understanding her unspoken feelings, and pulled off his rubber gloves, tentatively offering her a hug, unsure if she'd let him, "It's okay."

Monica accepted the hug gratefully, sniffing back tears. Even if he was a near stranger, and they'd only met a week prior, the small contact was immensely comforting and served to only make her like him more. She laid her head on his shoulder, reveling in the sense of protection and serenity she felt, not wanting to let go. Chandler seemed to understand and made no attempt to break away.

After a few minutes had passed, he questioned gently, "Feeling better?"

Monica nodded, aware she should probably be embarrassed for letting herself be so emotional in front of him, but the feeling wasn't as intense as she expected. It felt good, almost cathartic, to be able to let out the repressed feelings of hurt and loneliness that stemmed from her coworkers' cruel antics. She nodded slightly against his shoulder, knowing he would feel the movement.

"Good," he whispered, gently into her hair, "If you want to talk, I'm here," he offered warmly.

Monica smiled up at him, shyly, "Thanks. I could use a friend."

"Well, I'm your man, then," Chandler grinned at her. Monica flushed at his words, liking that he called himself 'hers.'

"Okay," she smiled, at him for a moment, before realizing there was still a lot that needed to be done before they left. She shook her head lightly, as if to literally shake off her emotional mood, and return her thoughts to getting the restaurant closed for the night. "I'm just going to go check expirations dates on products in the fridge. Can you finish the dishes?"

Chandler smiled at her easily. "No problem." He watched as she all but skipped off to the cooler, her mood clearly improved. He was making definite progress! The first few days had been a shaky start; she was an extremely private person, and getting her to open up to him, in such a short time period had seemed daunting, but he felt he was making definite headway.

He quickly peered towards the fridge to make sure Monica wasn't watching him, and flicked a hand towards the sink. Immediately the sponge scrubbie hopped up from it's resting place on the sink ledge and began obediently cleaning the grime off of the pots and pans too clunky for the dishwasher. Chandler grinned. Being an angel certainly had its perks.

Chandler leaned against the counter across the room, bored, picking at his yellow rubber gloves, as he waited for the scrubbie to finish its work. It was working on the last metal bowl, when Chandler heard the door to the cooler open. Panicked, he dropped the sponge and pot and pan from midair. They made a big splash as they fell back into the soapy water.

Monica looked at Chandler with a raised eyebrow, as she emerged from the cooler, seeing the splash, and that Chandler was a good twenty feet away from the sink, "What's going on? What were you doing?"

Chandler glanced at her sheepishly, fumbling in his mind for a viable excuse. "I, uh, I was playing scrubbie basketball. See, you take the scrubbie, and you stand over here, and you throw it and see if you can get it in the bowl," he shrugged at her guiltily, "I missed, obviously."

He was surprised when Monica grinned at him, instead of being upset at his lack of work ethic. "Yeah?" Her competitive instincts kicking in, she demanded, "Let me try!" Chandler grinned back, and immediately headed to the sink to fish out the scrubbie from the soapy water. He handed it to Monica, who took it with a determined look in her eyes. She threw it, sinking it into the centre of the floating bowl perfectly.

Though he knew he had invented the game on the spot to cover his glaring blunder, Chandler couldn't help but be impressed. "Hey! Nice shot!"

Monica grinned at him, pleased with the compliment, "Yeah?"

Chandler nodded, "Yeah!"

Monica smiled shyly, "Thanks."

xx

Five minutes later, they were involved in an intense game of scrubbie basketball. Chandler was taking his tenth shot, as Monica watched. He stretched as if preparing for intense physical actively, and not merely throwing a sponge.

Monica sighed at him exasperatedly, "Come on! We're playing scrubbie basketball, not preparing for the Olympics! Besides do you really think that all that stretching is going to help? You've missed nine straight shots! You suck!" Her competitive side had really opened her up. How had they gone from her blushing when his fingers brushed hers to her telling him he sucked? From hero to zero in ten minutes. This sucked.

Chandler pouted, "It might help!" It turned out he wasn't all that stellar at physical activity, having never really practiced before; due to his reliance on magic he was much less coordinated than he thought.

"Yeah, yeah," Monica laughed, "Take the shot, Michael Jordan."

"Hey," Chandler huffed, "I resent that sarcasm." He proceeded to take the shot, anyway, flushing when instead of sinking perfectly into the floating bowl, the sponge went flying across the room landing in front of the sink with a wet squelch.

Chandler stalked over to the scrubbie, snatching it from the floor as Monica laughed. "Guess the stretching didn't help, huh?" she teased though a giggle.

"Yeah, whatever," Chandler huffed. Man, his pride was really taking a beating. Ten straight missed shots and losing to a girl! Could it _get_ any worse? He slapped the sponge into Monica's hand, watching resentfully at she lined up her shot, and sunk another perfect basket.

Grinning at her opponent Monica called out, raising her arms in the air in cheer. "Monica 10, Chandler 0!"

Chandler looked at her sourly, retrieving the scrubbie from the bowl, and retreated to take his next shot, not even bothering to reply. Throwing the sponge, he watched as it flailed across the room, sailing towards the backsplash. Unable to let his pride take such a beating, Chandler waved a finger discreetly, and the sponge spontaneously dropped into the bowl.

Monica watched it, dumbfounded. "It looked like the sponge just fell out of the air! Isn't that weird, Chandler?"

Chandler looked at her fake-puzzled, embarrassment for the dishonest ploy setting in, "It looked like a perfect arc to me!" he boasted, flushing, adding with an embarrassed waver to his voice, "Monica 10, Chandler 1!"

"It was almost like magic!" Monica shook her head. "It would have to be for you to make a shot," she added with a laugh. Chandler tittered uncomfortably. Little did she know how right she was.

He closed his eyes, wishing he had never pulled that stunt. If Phoebe knew what he had done he could and would be severely punished for his indiscretion. Using magic in front of a human was a big no-no. They should change the rule, he decided with a inward humph. If someone was getting their ass kicked at scrubbie basketball by a human, it was only fair, after all.

"What can I say?" Chandler questioned rhetorically, "I'm a pro." Monica laughed loudly. "Okay, that hurt," he stated, the look in his eyes letting her know he wasn't fully serious.

"I'm sorry," Monica offered rather insincerely, adding sotto, "Too bad scrubbie basketball isn't an Olympic sport, because you would _definitely_ make the team!"

Chandler grinned at her, "That's what I like to hear. Now that you have oh-so-brutally kicked my ass at scrubbie basketball, maybe we should get some actual work done?"

"Yeah," Monica agreed quietly, not wanting to let go of the open and fun atmosphere the game had brought, "Maybe we should."

"Hey, now," Chandler comforted, "We can play again tomorrow!"

Monica sighed, "It's not that-," she paused mid-sentence as his words sunk in, "You'll be here tomorrow?" she questioned hopefully.

Chandler grinned at her, "Of course! I love hanging out with you. I had a ton of fun playing with you today, even if I was pounded into the ground."

Monica grinned back helplessly. "Me too," she agreed softly, "I used to hate having to close the restaurant. Now, I think I'm going to look forward to it."

Chandler squeezed her hand. "Me too."

Monica grinned shyly. "I'm going to go empty the registers, are you okay to finish the dishes back here?"

Chandler nodded, "No problem." Monica smiled slightly at him and turned to exit, stopping when Chandler called out her name. He paused not sure how to ask her what he wanted to. "I, um, I – what I mean is I wanted to ask if maybe you wanted to hang out with me Saturday? It says you have the day off on the schedule," he explained, frowning. Way to come off as a stalker, man, he complimented himself sardonically. He flushed. "The reason I, um, asked was because I was supposed to go skating with my friend and his daughter, but he cancelled, so I was, um, wondering if maybe you'd like to come instead?"

Monica looked up into his nervous eyes bashfully, wondering if he was asking her what it sounded like. Was he asking her… on a date? Deciding it didn't matter, she nodded, "I'd love to, but, um, I don't know how to skate."

Chandler looked at her, shocked. "You don't?"

Monica flushed. "No? Is that weird?"

"You live in New York City and you've never gone skating at the Rockefeller Center? You haven't lived! You have to come, now! I'll teach you to skate! You'll love it, trust me!"

Monica looked at him nervously, desperately wanting to agree, just to spend more time with him, but not wanting to make an idiot of herself by trying to skate and falling flat on her face. Making a split second decision, and replying before she could change her mind, she nodded. "I'll do it!

"Awesome! We're gonna have so much fun!" Chandler promised.

xx

"And then my Mom tells me 'Tuck your hair behind your ears!' like she hadn't just said my ears were too big and 'not my best feature.' I swear," Monica complained, "I just can't win!"

"I'm sorry you have to deal with that," Chandler said sympathetically, as they plodded down the snow-covered sidewalk towards the Rockefeller Center, to go ice skating, as he had promised her they would. He clasped her mitten clad hand in his, and she smiled at him shyly as he did. "My mom is nearly as bad, in a totally different way," Chandler told her, "Words can not describe!"

"Try," Monica suggested.

"Okay," Chandler grinned, unable to help from smiling in response. It wasn't that he was an unhappy person, but being around Monica just made him feel that much more upbeat and willing to share his dysfunctional childhood, "Picture this: blonde, sequins, far too much cleavage, six inch stilettos and on the arm of husband number," he paused squinting, trying to remember, "Seven is it? Maybe eight."

Monica laughed involuntarily. "Yeah, that sounds bad. My Mom may be a pain in my ass, but at least she's my Mom and not a wannabe 20-year-old call girl."

"Yeah," Chandler shrugged nonchalantly, "I'm used to it."

Monica nodded in understanding. "I can understand that feeling. I don't even try anymore."

"Okay," Chandler exclaimed, brushing off the comment as they approached the outdoor rink, "No more lamenting over dysfunctional parents! It's fun time." Monica grinned; his enthusiasm was catching. "I'm gonna go rent some skates for us. I'll be right back."

A few minutes later, he returned, a pair of ice skates slung over either shoulder. He immediately knelt down to help Monica remove her snow boots. She stared at him, touched by the small gesture, as he helped her replace her boots with the skates, and lace them tightly, 'so they wouldn't wobble.' He repeated the process on his own skates, before standing and offering a gloved hand to Monica to help her up. She grabbed his hand tightly, standing up shakily, taking careful steps towards the rink with his assistance.

"It's going to be fine," Chandler promised, seeing the nervousness written all over her face. He quickly twirled a finger, charming Monica so that she wouldn't slip and fall, since he knew that was the source of her anxiety. Maybe if she got out there and realized there was no reason to be afraid she would loosen up a little and have more fun learning.

"I know," Monica agreed shakily, sounding anything but sure, "You'll catch me if I fall, right?"

"It won't happen," Chandler promised.

Monica looked at him beseechingly. "How do you know? I might."

Chandler grinned. "I just know, okay? Now, come on, let's skate!" He let go of her hand and pushed off from the edge, turning to face her, demonstrating the footwork involved in skating. "See? It's easy! Now you try!"

Monica looked up at him terrified. "Already!? Aren't you going to hold my hand?" She looked at him pleadingly, "In case I fall?"

Chandler obediently skated towards her, grasping her hand tightly. Feeling secure in the knowledge that he would prevent her from falling, Monica moved her feet cautiously, sliding at a snail-like pace across the ice. "There ya go!" Chandler praised, "That wasn't so bad, was it? Now try a little faster. Once you get some momentum going, you'll loosen up."

Monica grinned up at him proudly. "I'm glad you made me try this."

Chandler smiled back, "That's the spirit! Trying new stuff is always fun!" With his help, Monica's confidence rapidly increased. Sure, she wasn't poised to do an axel, but Chandler couldn't help but feel proud of her. He desperately hoped that her confidence in her skating ability wasn't the only thing improving.

Over the course of a few days, his assignment had become an entirely personal matter to him. His happiness was dependent on Monica's. Sure, he'd been told to never get so invested, because he would inevitably have to move onto a new case in a few weeks time… but there was something about Monica that made him reconsider the intelligence of that philosophy. She was so sweet and perfect… and if it meant becoming invested, to make sure she was happy, so be it. That was a Solace Angel's job, anyway, right? To make people happy. So really, he wasn't invested, just dedicated to his job.

He tried to push out of mind the thought that he would have to leave in less than a week. The thought of never seeing her again–

No. Maybe he could visit. Was there a rule that angels couldn't appear to those who weren't involved in their current case? He couldn't recall… he'd have to check. Phoebe would know. He was reluctant to ask his old friend, though, he knew she would immediately know where his thoughts were and reprimand him for being an impulsive, infatuated idiot. He wasn't really keen on hearing that speech.

He forced away his thoughts and focused on Monica and the present. He was here and so was she. Focus and don't think about having to leave. He concentrated on the feeling of her mittened hand in his. "You're doing great," he encouraged, "You'll be flying across the ice in no time!"

Monica smiled proudly, shrugging. "I have a good teacher."

Chandler shoved away the blush he could feel fighting its way to his cheeks. Maybe she wouldn't notice, since they were pink from the cold. "Nah, it's all you." Monica grinned, not wanting to argue with him, even over that insignificant matter.

As Monica gained confidence in her ability, they skated more briskly in loops around the rink. Suddenly, without warning, the toe of Monica's skate caught on the ice, and she tripped, lurching forward. Chandler wrapped his arms around her, before she could realize that his charm had cushioned her fall, midair.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking into her eyes, concerned. Monica looked back, her face only inches from his. If she tilted her head up, she was close enough to kiss him. She briefly considered doing so, but decided she didn't want to make a bigger fool of herself if he reacted negatively.

Monica nodded, embarrassed for allowing herself to feel so confident that she had caused herself to nearly fall. Looking down at the ice, she shrugged. "Guess I'm not that great, after all."

Chandler shook his head, "You did excellent! You didn't fall. And even if you had, falling only once is amazing for a beginner!"

He helped her steady herself so her weight wasn't dependant on him, and squeezed her hand. "Let's take a break. We can get some hot chocolate and warm our bones before you hone your skating skills a little more!" Monica smiled at him, pleased he didn't seem to be at all fazed by what she viewed as a mortifying blunder. "Looks like the Zamboni is getting ready to come out, anyway."

Monica looked at him, puzzled, "The what?"

"The ice resurfacer. It makes the ice all shiny and smooth, so it's easier to skate on."

"Okay," she agreed easily, and headed in the direction of the café bar. "Can I get candy cane flavoured?" she wondered, innocently.

Chandler smiled at her, "Of course! My treat."

As they reached the ledge, Chandler helped her step off the ice, before following suit. Even once they were both on solid ground, he didn't let go of her hand.

xx

"Chandler!"

Chandler shrunk before Phoebe, knowing he wasn't going to like the following conversation. He averted his eyes, feeling like a 12-year-old that got caught sneaking out at two AM. "Yeah?" he questioned, though he knew exactly what Phoebe was upset about. He picked at a cuticle nervously.

"How could you use magic in front of a human like that! And for what!? Because you were losing at a game of 'scrubbie basketball?!'" she mocked, the term sounding ridiculous on her tongue. "You know that that violates everything we stand for as angels! It was selfish and stupid and urgh! I cannot believe you would even think about doing it, let alone actually do it! Did you think I wouldn't find out? I was reviewing your footage. I was impressed! I was thinking I had made the right decision sending you to Monica! Then! Then I see you do that!" she growled.

Chandler shrugged, explaining in a meek defensive voice, "She didn't know it was magic. I managed to convince her it wasn't."

"That isn't the point, Chandler!" Phoebe snarled, "The point is you know better than that, but let your emotions get to your head and used magic when you knew damn well you shouldn't have! If I were anyone else you'd be stripped of angel status now!"

"I know that, Pheebs, and I'm so sorry!" Chandler groveled, "It won't happen again. I promise!"

"It damn well better not happen again!" Phoebe snapped, "Do you realize how lucky you are? If Monica had understood what she was seeing, do you realize how much trouble you would be in?! I wouldn't be able to save you. You're goddamn lucky that I care about you too much to see you and your talents go to waste."

"Thank you so much, Phoebe. I know I scre-" Chandler started, only to be interrupted.

"Don't. I, just – urgh. I have a piece of mind to take you off of this case, right now!"

Chandler looked at her, his eyes wide and panicked. "No, Pheebs, please, I swear, I'll be better, just don't take me off this case! Monica needs me," he pleaded, "I can help her!"

Phoebe eyed him suspiciously, her expression softening as the realization came to her, "You care about her." She sighed warily. "I don't want to do this… but, that's two strikes against you, Chandler. I'm sorry. I can't keep you on this case."

xx

_Thanks for the response to the first chapter! It's nice to see there's interest in this story :) It's been a fun one to write, being so different than what I'm used to._

_It's really starting to feel like Christmas now, all the pretty wrapped presents under the tree, the white blanket of snow outside and of course the cookies! I love Christmas cookies :)_

_I'm hoping to have this little mini-story done by Christmas. The plan is for one last chapter, after this, but we'll see how it goes. If that's impossible, it'll be finished after Christmas, not abandoned :) After that, it's back to Listen to Your Heart, I promise :)_

_Anyway, please review and give my muse some holiday cheer to get it moving :P_


	3. Chapter 3

**Entertaining Angels – Chapter Three**

xx

_Note:_ _Just fair warning, there is some use of coarse language in this chapter, so I've bumped the chapter rating up to PG-13/T. If that offends you, I suggest you back up now :P_

xx

"Are you serious, dude?" Joey asked Chandler incredulously, "Phoebe actually said that?" He shrugged sheepishly at his bestfriend before offering an opinion, knowing Chandler wouldn't want to hear it. "I think she did you a favour, man."

"How so?" Chandler all but growled, "I'm defenseless down on earth when I'm forbidden to use magic! I feel naked without it! And you just know she's going to be watching my every move now when I'm down there to make sure I don't!."

Joey raised his hands defensively, "Not that part… it's about Monica, dude. Pheebs is making you think more carefully about how you act around her. You're getting way too close to her. I was lookin' around for you one day and you were down on earth with her, and I watched you guys for a bit… you were all smiling at her, and she was smiling at you, and you guys just seemed, like, I don't know googly eyed and couple-like."

"So?" Chandler huffed with a defensive shrug, "I like my assignment, so what? It's not like we were making out." He blushed slightly, praying that Joey wouldn't notice. Not that his oblivious bestfriend was likely to. The thought of kissing Monica, was, for lack of a more appropriate adjective… pleasant. He wasn't about to let anyone else know that, though. He'd had enough being chewed into for one day over his assignment and 'inappropriate closeness' with Monica. The stubborn streak in him wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of knowing that they were right, even if they were dead on the mark.

Joey, clueless about anything but women, seemed to know exactly where his thoughts were. Chandler immediately regretted the quip. "But you wouldn't mind that, would you?" Joey grinned at him deviously.

Chandler's cheeks flared. "I – uh, I don't, um, I don't know what you're talking about. She's a nice, sweet girl, but I don't like her in that way," he insisted, his tone flustered.

"Yeah, you do," Joey smirked at him, "It's okay, I won't tell Phoebe. She doesn't know you're in this deep, or she never woulda let you back on the case. Weird, 'cause she can usually tell these things."

In an attempt to divert his friend's attention, Chandler changed the subject. "But did she have to say no magic?" Chandler pouted, "It would have been better if she had just taken me off the case! I groveled and begged and this is all I get?"

"What did you say to her to get her to change her mind, anyway?" Joey wondered, "I thought we were all out of second chances after that training exercise thing."

"Yeah," Chandler scoffed, "Thanks for that, by the way. That happened when we were 15 and learning to fly and I'm still hearing about it!"

Joey shrugged, and clapped his friend on the back. "No problem, man."

"Anyway, I convinced her that Monica needed me. Think about it like this: it's five days to Christmas! The assignment is over then. Who's going to replace me in that time? It took me that long to even get Monica to trust me. Now that we're doing good and I'm on the verge of helping her, why ruin what good has been done? And, secondly, Monica's getting kinda attached to me. What's she going to do if I suddenly disappear and never call again? She's going to be crushed and we'll back to square one, 'cause everyone she ever cares about leaves her."

Joey burst out laughing, so Chandler glared at him, crossly, "What's so funny about that?"

Joey giggled, bent over with laughter, "Sorry. It's just the thought of a woman so attached to you that she'd be crushed if you ditched her."

Chandler narrowed his eyes, snipping back, "Haha, Chandler sucks with women. Whatever, it's not like you're God's gift to women. Hmm, where should we start? The woman whose roommate you slept with? Messing with Phoebe's head by crushing on her sister? The other 500 girls you've two-timed, three-timed or four-timed?"

Joey sobered up. "Okay, I see your point. But, I'll have you know that I'm now an Amour Angel."

Chandler closed his mouth, mid-formation of a quip, to gasp, "Phoebe made you an Amour Angel?"

Joey nodded proudly, answering, "Yep! My job is hooking people up! Who knows how to do that better than me?"

It was Chandler's turn to chortle, "Yep, you're a real cupid. Have you been given your love arrows and your diaper yet?"

Joey scoffed in a haha-very-funny way, and claimed, "There's no need for cupid when Joey's in town! I'm the master of quick hookups. How hard can it be to get humans to fall in love with their soulmates?"

Chandler shrugged, explaining, "Humans are… intense. Love. Hate. Their feelings are all over the map. One minute they're happy, then upset, then angry, all in an hour! They'll wanna give you a hug and ten minutes later they'll want to clock you. Let me tell you, acting human sucks. You can't fly! You can't use magic. Can you imagine being human for the rest of your life?"

xx

"Chandler!" Monica shrieked as a snowball came whizzing through the air and hit the back of her black felt coat, "I'm carrying a bunch of gifts! I don't want them wet! Or you're going to help me rewrap them!"

"Aww, come on, Mon!" Chandler complained, "Have a little fun! The bags are plastic! Nothing's going to get wet! Just set them down against a tree or something!"

Monica still didn't move, so Chandler set his own bags down, leaning them against a tree, and bent over quickly to scoop up a handful of snow in his leather gloves, balling it up, and throwing it at her.

Monica gasped, exclaiming, "I cannot believe you just did that!"

Chandler smiled at her cheekily. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Kick your ass, that's what I'm going to do! You have opened a miserable can of worms, my friend!" Monica warned, running over to set her bags next to Chandler's. Seeing what she was planning to do, Chandler decided he'd better make the best of the one advantage he had: a head start. He turned around quickly, running in the opposite direction from Monica.

Shortly, a snowball hit him smack dab in the back of the head. Either he wasn't fast enough, or Monica had good aim. Based on her perfect scrubbie basketball scores he was guessing the latter. Why oh why had he started a fight he was bound to lose?

He shivered as the cold snow melted and slid down his neck and down the back of his shirt, despite his best efforts to brush if off. "That was cold, Mon, very cold! And I mean that in all senses of the word!" Chandler complained good-naturedly, "I have cold water dribbling down my back!"

Monica just laughed and countered, "You started this, Bing!"

Deciding he better retaliate before Monica took another shot at him, he quickly scooped up some snow and flung it behind him, hardly slowing to make sure his aim was in tact. It wasn't, and the snowball sailed a good two feet over her head. Damn.

Chandler quickly glanced over his shoulder, to see she'd managed to collect three snowballs and had gained a good ten feet on him. What was up with that? Was she superwoman? He smiled to himself at the thought… being the angel in charge of saving a superhero's soul would be cool, let alone one as hot as superwoman. Monica could be superwoman, he considered; she was really hot, too... He hardly had time to consider the thought as one after another, three snowballs sailed into the back of his jacket.

"Okay, what did I ever do to you?" He grumbled, still running to prevent further attacks, "I threw one itty bitty snowball and you declare war?"

"For one, you got a big white, wet spot on my new black coat!" she grinned maliciously, chasing him, "And two, it was two snowballs you threw. It's not my fault you have terrible aim! You only got me the first time because you were five feet away!"

"Hey! I resent that!" Chandler called out behind him, panting; running was hard work, flying was so much easier! "Besides you hit me four times, and got snow all inside my shirt! Aren't we even?"

Monica stopped running, and tapped her chin with her red gloves, pretending to consider his pleas, "Hmm, okay. But only if you admit I'm the winner of this snowball fight."

Chandler nodded, eager to appease her and jogged over to where she was standing, bowing dramatically. "Monica Geller is the victor of this snowball fight and queen of the world. I fail to match her greatness in snow flinging skills."

Monica nodded approvingly, "Good." He moved to wrap his arms around her waist and give her a hug, but stepped on a patch of slippery black ice in doing so and crashed to the snow-covered ground, pain radiating from his behind.

When Monica caught sight of him, flat on his ass in the snow, a shocked expression on his face, all she could do was laugh. Chandler scowled at her, narrowing his eyes at her teasingly, "You think this is funny?"

Monica glanced at him, her mouth twisted in a half smirk, "Hell yeah!" He peeled himself up off the ground, his pride a little shaken, but not broken. Being goofy and klutzy seemed to only make her like him more. He was okay with that. He wrapped his arms around her like he had been planning to do before he had fallen. Monica smiled up at him, from her position in his embrace. "This is nice," she said quietly, "I like us, hanging out like this."

"Me, too," he whispered against her hair, "Me, too."

They stood silently for a moment, just hugging, snow falling around them. Without warning, Chandler scooped Monica up in his arms. She gasped and shrieked once she realized what he was planning to do, "Let me down, Chandler! Do _not_ dump me in the snow! You wouldn't dare! Chandler!" She squirmed in his arms as he marched purposefully towards a large snow bank.

Chandler grinned at her evilly, "Oh, I'm going to let you down! I may not have very good aim and I may not run very fast, but I'm stronger than you, no matter how freakishly strong you are!"

As he moved to dump her in the snow bank, she grabbed onto his shirt, yanking him down with her, as he lost his balance. They laid there half buried in the snow for a moment, him on top of her, attracting several odd looks from passersby. Neither noticed, as they stared intensely at one another for a moment, blue eyes searching blue eyes, before they realized the ridiculousness of the situation and burst out laughing.

"What do you say we go get some coffee?" Chandler asked, once he had successfully helped Monica up and they had managed to brush most of the snow off of themselves.

"Sounds like a great idea," Monica agreed with a nod, looking at Chandler curiously when he burst out laughing, "What?"

"Look at the impression that we left in the snow," he pointed, "It looks like someone was doing it in the snow." Monica looked at the image and giggled.

"Come on," Chandler said, taking her gloved hand into his and leading her towards their bags, "Let's go get that coffee. I'm freezing and Central Perk is screaming my name."

Monica nodded, squeezing his hand as he picked up all their bags, carrying hers for her, and led her across the street to the coffeehouse.

xx

"Hey I have a question," Monica said, once they were settled comfortably into the old, orange, crushed velvet couch, each with a cup of warm beverage in hand. Chandler, as he had claimed he would, had gotten a coffee, but Monica had opted for a hot chocolate, with extra marshmallows, because it was 'more Christmas-y.' It was strange to think how only less than two weeks ago she had been sitting alone in her apartment, wallowing in loneliness, staring at a beautifully decorated tree, but with no one to share it with… Now thanks to Chandler's presence in her life her Christmas spirit had improved and her life flipped 180 degrees. She was looking forward to the holiday, and especially giving him the beautiful, neatly wrapped gift she'd stored under her bed for safekeeping.

Chandler nodded, agreeably, "Okay, shoot."

Monica's cheeks pinked slightly. "Well, I was wondering if you have a girlfriend? Because if you do, you've been spending an awful lot of time with me lately – not that I'm complaining, I love spending time with you, I haven't laughed this much in ages! –but she must be upset. I mean it's the eve of Christmas eve, and you're here with me," she rambled, needing to know if her growing feelings for him were inappropriate or misplaced.

Chandler shook his head, a slight smile on his face, "No. It's just me alone for the holidays this year. I usually spend time with friends, but they're a little far away this year," he explained. Well, it wasn't exactly a lie, Joey and Phoebe _were_ far away, even if not in the way Monica would expect. "How about you, spending the holidays with a boyfriend?" he asked, even though he knew perfectly well the answer to the question. It only seemed polite to ask, though.

Monica looked slightly downcast, "Nope. No one. I'll visit my parents quickly to drop off gifts, mingle a little, no longer than necessary and then head to the toy drive to donate a gift, but that's the extent of my celebrating. I don't do well with relationships," she looked into his eyes meaningfully serious, "I get attached, he doesn't, and he leaves. It's a never-ending cycle and I'm always left alone. I don't do relationships well."

"Hey now," he comforted, "I'm sure it's not that bad. You're gorgeous and funny and intelligent. You're the most beautiful woman in this coffeehouse! Who wouldn't want you?"

Monica shrugged, "Most men, apparently. You get used to it."

Chandler tipped Monica's chin up, so she was looking directly into his eyes. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he told her, his voice soft but determined, "You shouldn't have to. You're going to find that guy, I promise you. You'll fall in love and you'll know it's meant to be, and it'll last forever. The right guy is just around the corner, I promise."

Monica sighed and averted her eyes. "I wish it was that easy, I think my problem is I always go for the wrong guys," she glanced up at him quickly, "The ones that never want me back."

"It is that easy," he assured, "True love only has to happen once. Maybe you haven't found it yet, but you will." Monica smiled at him half-heartedly, desperately wanting to believe him. There was something about the tone of his voice and his general aura – was he glowing again? – in that moment that made her feel that, maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth, and maybe it would happen. God, if only he could see. Why were men so oblivious?

Chandler squeezed her hand tightly, reassuringly.

Maybe they weren't.

xx

"Yeah," Chandler laughed, as he walked her home later that evening. They had sat in the coffeehouse sipping warm drinks and eating Christmas cookies, completely unaware as the hours flew by and the lightness outside turned to dark. "And then Joey says to me, 'Dude, she said, I-'" his sentence was cut short as a dirty, unshaven man, stepped in their pathway, waving a gun in their faces.

"You, get out your wallet!" he demanded, staring at Chandler with beady, red-rimmed eyes, before turning his attention to Monica, "Sweetheart, why don't you come stand over here by me, while your boyfriend empties his pockets, eh, how does that sound?" he asked, smiling at her as if he was doing her a favour. She looked at him distastefully and gripped Chandler's hand tighter; his breath reeked of alcohol.

Chandler stared back at him determinedly, pushing Monica behind him, "Don't touch her. You can take my money. Just leave her alone." He moved to dig in his pockets for his wallet. He could feel Monica shaking, from where she clung to his back, terrified out of her mind.

The mugger did not seem pleased with this compromise, and ignored the bills Chandler offered, "Do as I tell you to do, asshole! I'm the boss, not you. Let go of your bitch, or I'll shoot her." He paused to look at Monica for a second, "Why so scared, baby? We could have some fun, better than with this tight-assed asshole." He aimed the gun at Monica, who seemed only more terrified by the appeal. "If you'd just listened…""

When neither Chandler or Monica made a move to appease him, the mugger cocked the aimed gun, as if to prove the seriousness of his threat. "Look, fuckface," he snarled, "I said let go of the damn bitch. I'm giving you three seconds, then I shoot."

"Look," Chandler tried again, attempting to appeal to the mugger's greed by opening his wallet and displaying the multitude of bills, "I have nearly 300 dollars, here. You can buy a lot of shit with 300 bucks."

The mugger growled impatiently, making it clear he wasn't willing to negotiate and started counting, "One."

Chandler didn't even think about what he did before he did it. Monica was in trouble and she needed him. He was going to be damned if she was hurt while she was with him. He was here to protect her. He twirled a finger, removing the bullets from the gun by magical means. Only once the gun was empty did he realize he was forbidden from using magic. Damn. Damn. Damn.

"Two."

Chandler was hardly aware of Monica's presence behind him, cowering in terror. He descended towards the mugger purposefully. He seemed to be confused by the change in direction, and aimed the gun at Chandler instead, "Back off asshole. What do you think you're doing? I have a gun! I'll shoot your fucking face off!"

Chandler stared at him, his eyes hard. "Why don't you then?" he questioned evenly.

"Chandler!" Monica screeched, coming out of her terrified silence, "What are you doing?! You're going to get hurt. Please, you can't. You can't die."

The mugger snickered at Chandler. "You should listen to your bitch, she's a smart one." He aimed the gun at Chandler's head, and counted with a malicious sneer, "Three," and pulled the trigger, several times in quick succession. Chandler was vaguely aware of Monica's scream in the background.

Not a single shot fired.

Chandler cocked his head, as the guy looked at his gun in shocked confusion, and took a step forward, kneeing him in the groin. He collapsed like a pile of bricks. Opening his hand so only the mugger could see, he revealed the bullets he had taken.

"Fuck man," the mugger cried out, terrified, "I don't know what you did, but you fucking stole my bullets! Some voodoo shit or somethin'! You're a freak! A freak! I loaded this here gun ten minutes ago! You fucker!"

Chandler glared at him, standing over him menacingly. "You're not so much without your gun are you?" He snatched the weapon from the trembling man's hand, "I'll take this. Now apologize to my friend here, or 'I'll shoot your fucking face off,'" he mocked.

"I-I-I'm ss-sorry," the man stuttered.

"Say it like you mean it!" Chandler demanded, waving the gun in his direction.

"I'm sorry," the man said in a stronger, but still shaky voice.

"Good," Chandler muttered, leaning over the man threateningly, "Now, I better not hear that you ever, _ever_ threaten to shoot another woman, man or child again, or you will wish you had never been born."

"Ye-yes, sir," the petrified man whimpered.

Chandler walked calmly back over to Monica, who was standing frozen in terrified shock ten feet away. When she realized he was okay, she burst out crying, and wrapped her arms tightly around him, "Oh my God, Chandler! Thank God you're okay! I was so scared!" She ran her arms down his limbs quickly, "You are okay, aren't you?" she asked with a worried expression in her eyes.

"Shh, it's okay," Chandler soothed, "I'm fine, you're fine. He's not going to hurt us. He was just bluffing. The countdown was a dead giveaway. His kind are in that kind of shit for the thrill of scaring the living daylights out of people. The money is just a perk. You saw how he refused to take my wallet until after he had screwed with us. The gun was empty. See," he said, opening the weapon, "Just a scare tactic."

"Still!" Monica exclaimed as they continued down the street, Chandler carefully keeping one eye on the mugger, "You took a huge risk! What if you had been wrong?!" her eyes filled with tears, "You put your life on the line for me! No one had ever done anything like that for me before!" she told him, tearily.

Chandler shrugged modestly; his eyes had darkened to a protective shade of cobalt blue. He could have lost her so easily. The thought scared the hell out of him. "It was nothing. I couldn't stand the thought of you being hurt. Not doing anything wasn't even an option." Monica latched onto his side, reveling in the feeling of protection she felt with him by her side.

xx

"You disobeyed my direct orders, Chandler," Phoebe stated seriously, "Even though you were fully aware of the consequences!"

"I know," Chandler stated, his eyes hard, "And I would do it again if I had a choice! Being stripped of angel status is worth saving a life."

Phoebe eyed him carefully. "Is that so?"

Chandler nodded emphatically, "Yes. As angels we protect others. Saving my own ass is secondary."

A hint of a smile appeared in the lines around Phoebe's mouth. "I'm proud of you, Chandler."

Chandler seemed taken aback, and questioned shocked, "You are?"

Phoebe nodded, "Your behaviour is commendable. You put your own happiness behind that of those whom you care about. This is not an easy feat, even for angels, the most selfless of all beings."

Chandler shrugged modestly and changed the subject, never having been comfortable with receiving complements. "Um, the man, in the alley, I told him-"

"I know," Phoebe claimed, "He's being dealt with as we speak. He is going to learn the error of his ways, whether he likes it or not. Once we are done with him, he'll emerge a better man." Chandler nodded and for a moment both angels fell silent.

"And me?" Chandler asked quietly, "What's going to happen to me?"

"Nothing," Phoebe told him, simply. "Your behaviour, while it outright disobeyed by orders, was admirable. We do not penalize virtue. The choice is yours."

"Choice?" Chandler asked confused, "What choice do I have?"

After a moment of heavy silence Phoebe responded, in a soft voice, "Whether or not to stay an angel, of course. I don't think you will, though."

"What?!" Chandler questioned, shocked, "Why wouldn't I want to remain an angel?"

"Oh," Phoebe responded airily, "Not because you're a glutton for punishment. Much the opposite, actually. You're in love, Chandler."

Chandler flushed, despite his best efforts to hide it, "In love?" he queried in a strained voice, "With who?" he asked, though he knew perfectly well who Phoebe was talking about.

Phoebe looked at him exasperatedly, knowing he was feigning ignorance. "Monica, of course! The choice is yours. Christmas Eve is tomorrow."

xx

"Merry Christmas!" Monica told Chandler, extending the perfectly wrapped red and gold gift towards him nervously, "I hope you like it. I really wanted to get something you'd like, but I-"

Chandler placed a finger to her lips, "No matter what it is, I'm going to like it, because it's from you."

Monica smiled shyly, looking at him with bashful eyes. "Really?"

Chandler nodded. "Really." He produced a small giftbox from behind his back. "You didn't think I forgot about you, did you?" Monica shrugged noncommittally.

"Thanks," she whispered, fingering the shiny green ribbon on the gift. "It's beautiful. I almost don't want to unwrap it."

"Before you do," Chandler said nervously, "There's something I really wanted to talk to you about." He clasped her hands gently in his, rubbing the backs of them with his thumbs.

Monica looked up at him, imploring him to continue. He did, in a slightly raspy voice, "What I wanted to say, was, um, that I've really enjoyed these past couple of weeks with you. You are my new favourite person in the whole world, and your friendship has meant the world to me. I guess what I'm really trying to say, is that," he paused, attempting to work up the courage to say the words, knowing that they would change the rest of his life, "I love you. I'm in love with you." He paused again, briefly, aware of a shift in energy within his body. Though he didn't feel physically different, he knew it was because he was now human. In spite of that fact, he felt strangely liberated. She was worth it.

Monica opened her mouth to respond, but before she could Chandler jumped in, continuing in a rambling voice, "And I know you might think I'm crazy and that this is insanely fast. But it isn't. This was meant to be. You know how I was telling you your soulmate was just around the corner?" he questioned rhetorically, "Well, I'd be the luckiest guy in the world if he was me. I can make you happy, Monica."

Monica looked at him with soft eyes, her voice neutral, "How long did it take you to plan that speech?"

Chandler looked at her nervously. Each second that ticked by felt like a millennium. "A couple hours."

Monica nodded slowly. "I didn't need to hear any of it." Chandler looked up at her, panic filling his eyes as quickly as it was filling his soul. "I don't need to be convinced. I'm already there."

"You mean?" he questioned, hopefully.

"I love you, too," she whispered reverently. The relief Chandler felt was tangible. It felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted off of his heart.

"God, you're amazing," he whispered, hugging her tightly, nuzzling into her hair, kissing the skin of her neck gently, before moving hips lips to meet hers. They both sighed at the contact they had been desperately craving. The kiss quickly intensified and they both knew this was what they had been waiting for.

"All that stuff you said earlier? About soulmates?" Monica reminded with a soft smile, after they broke their kiss, "I believe it now."

"Thank God for that," Chandler murmured into her hair. "This is the best Christmas present in the world," he told her. Their material gifts to one another lay abandoned on the coffee table.

Monica nodded in agreement. "It's like you were sent down to me, an angel from heaven," She breathed reverently, her head leaned against his chest.

A smile tugged at the corners of Chandler's mouth. "You have no idea."

xx

_Merry Christmas guys! I hope a short and sweet Mondler get together is enough of a Christmas gift for you! :)_

_I'm off to celebrate Christmas with my own gifts, cookies (!!!) and Turkey! Yum :)_

_As always, please, please review and let me know what you think!_

_This is my first completed series in years! I hope I'm not too rusty. I'm considering adding an epilogue. An online friend and I were debating whether this needed one – I was thinking 'no,' for the record, as I've had the last lines in mind since the beginning of the fic and I quite like them as a final resting spot! But if enough people disagree, I might be swayed :P_


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